


Twenty Years

by yearofmeteors



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yearofmeteors/pseuds/yearofmeteors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you love too much all at once for so damn long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rabbit's Foot

**Author's Note:**

> The Mission: Impossible movies span a length of time amounting to almost 20 years. I watched all five movies in the past five days and wanted to piece together said 20 years of Ethan Hunt's personal life. I went in with one idea of a pairing and came out on the other side of the rewatch repping a totally different ship. I tried to make this as canon compliant as possible. Still very much a WIP and will add tags as I add chapters.

Ethan Hunt took Benji Dunn out to dinner after his honeymoon. Ethan had promised him he was going to thank him for his help with the Rabbit’s Foot Incident, but Benji didn’t think that meant Ethan ‘MVP-of-the-IMF’ Hunt was going to take him out to dinner. More precisely, that it meant that Ethan _and_ his wife Julia were going to take him out to dinner. It was a nice dinner, a fancy dinner, and it ended up with him going back to their place and having coffee and some of Ethan’s goddamn _cookies._ Ethan Hunt fucking baked.

The house was good old suburban comfort, not really jiving with Benji had in mind when he thought of Ethan. There were quirks here and there that showed the personality of the couple living in the house. On just a quick look around he found quite the collection of video games nestled on the bottom shelf of a bookcase and a row of what seemed to be Russian folk art in the hallway. That collection of art _had_ to be Ethan’s considering field agents picked up eclectic tastes after living all over the world.

Ethan and Julia were still very shaken up, as they had every right to be, but they tried to put on a brave face for him. He could tell though, that more than anything they needed him right now, needed someone who knew what had happened but hadn’t been there in the thick of things, someone who could sympathize but could also distract. Benji felt blessed that they chose him for the job.

They had been awful touchy-feely after the thank you dinner, Ethan’s hand lingering at his lower back, brushing his knee. He laughed at Benji’s terrible jokes, real laughter that pushed him tight against Benji’s side, arm over his shoulder, warm and safe. Julia’s long hair brushed against his face as she leaned to whisper teasing words, eyes bright and alive. She always seemed to catch his gaze from across the room, sharing knowing glances and wry smiles with him, her face just as warm and safe as Ethan’s arms.

She had walked him to the door that night as Ethan waved from the kitchen where he was doing the dishes. Benji had felt her lips brush his cheek, a soft thank you whispered against his 5 o’clock shadow as she pressed a Tupperware full of Ethan’s _fucking cookies_ into his hands. Benji came back the next weekend, standing awkwardly at their front door with the empty Tupperware, wondering if he had overstepped in some way. Hours later he was standing at the doorway again with leftover stir fry in hand and a request to come for movie night on Tuesday. He left with Ethan pressing a kiss that was more open mouthed laughter than lips against his left cheek, and Julia squeezing his hand tight and warm as she slipped something small and delicate to him. It was a little UFO pin he recognized from her weird as fuck collection of vintage buttons. Of course Ethan would marry a girl with such a strange hobby. And here he was being gifted one of her prized possessions, even if it was just an ugly enamel little thing. He loved it dearly, had told her it was his favorite when she reluctantly showed him her little box of kitschy wearable trinkets. Ethan had insisted that Benji would appreciate her hobby, but she hadn’t seemed convinced until she was sitting on the floor with him going through each pin one by one. Ethan had walked into the bedroom and started laughing at the two of them, telling them dinner was ready with eyes full of something Benji was finally able to identify years later as _hope_ .

Benji wore the pin on his lapel for Tuesday’s movie night, hoping it would endear him into their hearts some more, if nothing else than to be able to see their smiling faces more often. Ethan answered the door, took one look at him and hugged him tight before yelling over his shoulder to Julia. She ran over and kissed Benji on the lips, soft and quick while Ethan still had an arm around his waist. It was enough to make Benji’s ears go pink. He had looked over to Ethan, scared for his life for what Julia had just did, but he was met with such an expression of love on Ethan’s face that it made his heart hurt and his head swim. He ended up driving home after their viewing of  _The Day the Earth Stood Still_ with a grin on his face and butterflies in his stomach.

He found himself over at their place more and more often, Tupperware being traded in until they dropped the excuse and he was just _there._ He was installed on the couch playing video games with Julia on her off nights while Ethan cooked them dinner, catching Ethan watching them with soft eyes and a small smile on his face as he listened to them hurl light-hearted insults at each other. Other nights he and Ethan watched shitty movies while Julia was on the late shift, ending up curled against each other somehow, making Benji’s throat tight and his face flushed. Ethan was always falling asleep half way through any and every movie, loose-limbed and drooling on Benji’s shoulder. Julia would get back in around 1am, closing the door quietly behind her, and Ethan still wouldn’t wake up, somehow feeling safe to sleep in Benji’s arms. Julia would kiss Benji on the forehead, whisper a hello to him against his skin, and trail a hand through Ethan’s hair to wake him up enough to move him to a bed. She would always return to coerce Benji into staying the night, the two of them trying to put sheets on the pull-out couch, ineffectually wrestling with them until they gave up, falling into a pile on the undressed mattress, laughing. Ethan would speak up from where he had been watching them from the doorway, a sleepy smile on his face, and tell Benji to just sleep with them in their bed. There was enough room, he’d say, he’d shared a bed with worse company. And he’d yawn into Benji’s shoulder, hand at Benji’s back as he ushered him in, shirt off and pajama pants too long over his bare feet. Benji would argue in his head there was _just_ enough room, always ending up under the arm of Ethan or kicked off the bed from someone’s more intense nightmares.  He didn’t mind the inconvenience even if he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

And then it was his birthday, and he was sitting between the two of them on the couch after Luther finally left with an odd knowing look directed at the three of them. That had put Benji right on edge in and of itself but then Julia had her hand on his thigh, and Ethan’s arm was slung around his shoulder, and Julia was asking Benji to join them in bed, no Benji, not to sleep Benji, to just for the night, but for every night if we wanted. He could only nod, eyes meeting Ethan’s for confirmation, getting a rough kiss for a resounding yes, Ethan’s hand at his jaw and Julia’s lips at his neck. He was unprepared for the two of them to want him like this, to take them into their bedroom and press him close and wide awake, the pretense of sleep and long nights thrown to the wayside as they undressed him slowly, pressing him against the bed and making him feel . . . _loved_. It was more than Benji deserved, more than he would ever allow himself to dream of, Ethan laughing into his neck, fingers pressing in slow while Julia spoke softly to them both, voice low and smiling, her hand tight and perfect around him, making his vision fuzzy no matter how much he wanted— _needed_ —to see their faces. But he could never keep his eyes open with Ethan sliding inside, Julia moving over his face, the taste of her on his lips and the feel of Ethan’s hands pressing perfect bruises into his hips. And nothing could match the sweet sounds pouring out of their mouths, drowning Benji in love, love,  _love,_  until he fell over the edge.


	2. Trivia Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the thank you dinner, Julia can tell Ethan's got a thing for Benji.

Julia was charmed by Benji from the moment she met him. They had spoken a few times during the days and days of debriefing and hospitalization following the Rabbit’s Foot Incident. He had stopped in and given her flowers, sitting awkwardly in the little chair by her hospital bed and talking hesitantly about Ethan. They had shared insights with each other, commiserating on Ethan’s tendency to be single minded, apparently something that happened both on the job and at home. But their conversations quickly morphed from halting small talk to conspiracy theories about the Moon landing and their favorite crooners and jazz musicians. Benji was a fan of aliens and the Rat Pack and she found that she held those little details about him close to her heart. His off kilter personality made her laugh and forget the hospital and the Rabbit’s Foot for a while. She felt the beginnings of a serious crush develop when he shared a story about besting Ethan at Trivia Crack. The next day he had marched right down to Benji’s desk and argued about how Benji probably googled everything anyways. Benji just sat back in his chair and asked Ethan to ask him some trivia right then and there. Before she knew it she was hooked on Benji’s impersonations and fun facts.

The thank you dinner had only cemented her opinion of him. He was kind of a cutie. And she just had to kiss him before he left. Once the door closed, Ethan vaulted over furniture, hands still damp from doing the dishes. He pulled her into a kiss that took her breath away, before leaning back and laughing about how good it was to have Benji around. That was when she really knew Ethan had gone and fallen again. They were two peas in a pod that way, always ready to share their love with someone else.

The day after the thank you dinner, Ethan whisked her away on this little weekend excursion. It was an open air flea market, row upon row of endless opportunities to find those little kitschy pins she adored. They walked along the booths, Ethan rambling on about all the stuff he knew about this time period and that, which things were scams, and which were diamonds in the rough. She suspected he loved these flea markets even more than she did. And if Benji could best _this_ man at Trivia Crack, then the IMF didn’t know who they had stowed away in the basement.

“So . . . about Benji,” Ethan said, looking just as nervous as he did when he proposed. She watched his hands run over the bits and bobs lining the tables, looking everywhere but at her. It was kind of amusing how nervous he could get. Mr. Super Spy hadn’t even been able to keep his cool when he had asked her to marry him. She couldn’t keep the grin from her face. He met her eyes and frowned.

“What?”

“You’re so cute,” she said, tweaking his nose.

He huffed a weak laugh, eyes distant and sad, “I’m glad you can still call me cute.”

“Shush Ethan,” she said, taking his hand, leading them over to a bench. “Stop being so dramatic. We’ve talked about this honey. Besides I think all of _that_ makes _this_ even more adorable.”

He huddled close to her, shoulder hunched in his leather jacket and face creased with worry. It was just like him to want to have this conversation here, in the middle of a crowd.

“Ethan, you act like this on missions?” she asked, teasing. She put her arm around his waist and squeezed gently. He really could be a dunce when he felt like it. If he just spit the words out he would find out she was fine with it, probably enthusiastic about his great idea.

“Oh god no, missions aren’t . . . aren’t important in the same way you are . . .”

“And they aren’t important like Benji is either?” she asked. She saw him blush. Blush! He was probably the sweetest spy who ever lived, even if he was being a little shit right now. It was like pulling teeth.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her eyes. She waited for more but all she got was an expectant look.

“Yeah? Just yeah? Ethan, please. I think he’s just fabulous, you already know that. I think he could be good for us if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“It’s just . . . it’s not . . . usual.”

She sighed heavily, “None of this is _usual_. Besides we’ve done this before! We’ve talked about it to death when we started dating, we talked about it after Mal, and we talked about when we got engaged. Hell, we even had the presence of mind to talk about it right before we had our little shotgun wedding. I am so on board with dating someone else as a couple, you have to know that by now. And I think Benji is . . . I think he would be great. And I think we would be good for him. He’s so lonely.”

“He’s a lot for people to handle. I just, Mal was . . . and you still don’t the whole story of Jim and Claire. It’s, now that you know what I do you can . . .” his frantic stream of words fell off in a strained laugh.

“Mal _was_ a mess, but we survived. And Jim and Claire, well, I don’t need to know anything past what you’ve told me. They seriously betrayed your trust and your love, and hurt you deeply. That’s enough for me. All I’m saying is that I think we should try,” she said, taking his hand in hers, voice having gone soft. “We don’t even know if Benji would want to date a married couple.”

He laughed softly, as if Benji not wanting to date them was unthinkable. “You really want to?” he asked. She could tell he was tearing up a bit.

“He’s . . . he’s a sweetheart and I love how he makes you laugh. I like the little geek thing he has going on and god knows it would be nice to have someone who could know, who could know _everything_.”

“He’s a sweet guy isn’t he?” Ethan said, smile going a little goofy with sentiment.

“And you obviously love him. Jesus Christ, Ethan,” she took his face in her hand. “There’s no sense in beating yourself up over this. I’m falling for him too, and I think . . . I think the risk is worth it.”

“Christ Julia, that’s my life motto,” he smiled, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

“Now let’s go back to Mr. Day’s booth and grab that UFO pin. I think, I think Benji would like it.”

“I think you’re right. But now that you’re on board, we have to know if he is. Now how are we going to make this work?”

“You’re asking me, Julia Meade, RN? Babe, you’re the Impossible Missions guy.”

“This is a little outside my training,” he said, voice lighter than it had been, arm linked with her’s.

“Bullshit,” Julia laughed, elbowing him. He looked at her, eyes bright and smiling.

“What?” He withdrew his arm from her to hold his hands up in mock surprise. “You and your wife dating your coworker isn’t exactly covered by the IMF field agent handbook.”

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” Julia said, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the crowd, “I hope the pin isn’t gone.”

“Who wouldn’t fall for you anyways?” Ethan laughed, trailing behind.

“I know! I nabbed a worldly super spy. I must be doing something right. And if I can nab two of ‘em? Shit, that’s not fair.”

“Benji’s not exactly a super spy. He could probably pull off worldly. But not super spy.”

“Semantics Ethan, semantics.”


	3. Spock Must Die!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of the domesticity of three.

Benji still lived at his own place, walls plastered with weird art, shelves overflowing with Star Trek novels and old records, and tables covered in dismantled tech. But he spent half of his time at Julia and Ethan’s house, time filled with video games, and home-cooked meals, and lazy mornings in bed. Time filled with the love of two people who had seen hell and still wanted to invite another person they could lose into their hearts.

However, sometimes Julia and Ethan would stay at Chez Benji. Ethan would curl up on Benji’s dingy couch and read _Uhura’s Song_ or _Spock Must Die!_ snickering at the bad writing before getting absorbed in the ridiculous stories for an hour or so. Meanwhile Julia would wander around and comment on Benji’s collection of art as if she were an art collector, throwing out buzz words that weren’t even close to matching what was on his walls. He always tried to find new stuff to squeeze into blank wall space, weirder and brighter the better, just so he could hear Julia pretend to wax poetic about the local artists and their neon collages.

The three of them never saw any need to have Benji move in. Ethan had made noises about it once or twice but Julia could see the need for space in Benji. Two people were enough to swallow him whole, and to have his own place, even just to cram all of his hobbies into or to escape to when his head was buzzing full to the brim, was enough to keep him anchored. He’d hole up for a week at a time, brain gone blurry at the edges, and zone out to music and data analyses, getting a month’s work done in a few days. Julia and Ethan would stop by and bring him food, kiss his cheek, straighten up a bit, and leave with an ‘I love you.’ Then he’d be crawling out of his den a week later and into their bed, his brain clear and no longer starving.

“There you are,” Julia said from the couch, a smile lighting up her face as he walked in the front door. Benji set his key in one of the little dishes he and Ethan had made at some craft fair last year. He straightened with a push of his thumb, momentarily distracted by the memory. Despite their supposed fine motor skills earned in IMF training, Ethan and Benji had next to zero talent in pottery. Their little dishes were lopsided things that had gotten more misshapen the more they tried to correct them. He had one back at his place that held an assortment of guitar picks he had collected over the years. That was about all it was good for, besides making him unbearably sappy.

“Just in time for a classic Hunt family dinner.” Ethan said from the kitchen. “ _As usual._ I swear Benji, I think you have some kind of sixth sense for these things.” Benji shook his head as he took off his jacket and set his duffel bag down by the stairs. He caught a glimpse of Ethan moving around the stove. He was wearing a Kill the Cook apron, complete with a James Bond worthy gun sight decal on the front pocket. Julia had given that to him last Christmas. Benji felt like he could count on one hand how many times he’d seen Ethan without it on in the house.

“Nothing drags me out of my cave like meat and potatoes,” Benji said, flopping onto the couch next to Julia.

“And good sex,” Julia added with a wry smile before dragging him into a kiss.

“What’s gotten into you?” Benji asked once she let him up for air.

“I missed you, asshole,” Julia said, hitting his shoulder.

“Well if you greeted me like that more often I might not stay away so much,” he said with a grin.

“Oh shut up Benji. When you get like that you can hardly get it up you’re so out of it.”

“My mouth still works though,” he said, winking.

“And don’t we know it,” Ethan said, “dinner’s ready if you two sex crazed maniacs can manage to get your butts over here.”

“Ethan you want to get him into bed just as much as I do,” Julia said.

“Yes, but can we eat dinner first?”


	4. Geek Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How a man was able to let himself continue to love. To love deeply. To love expansively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events from the first Mission: Impossible movie are referenced in this chapter.

Benji finally decided to start his field training, after years of dreaming of a field position but not believing in himself. With Julia encouraging him at every turn he felt that his days behind a desk were finally over. And with Ethan now instated as a handler at IMF, after keeping his distance from the field as an analyst for two years, Benji had his support on the front lines as well. And after some cajoling from Julia, Ethan reluctantly took Benji under his wing, training him for a field agent position in traditional Ethan Hunt style. That meant he was everywhere, able to get his trainer claws in at work and at home, dragging Benji out of bed for ridiculously long morning runs and sneaking up on him in the living room, while Benji was vacuuming thank you very much, to test his reflexes and fighting skills. The only problem was Ethan would get him on his back, pinning his wrists to the half-vacuumed floor and they’d get distracted.

_Very distracted._

Ethan would lean down, their chests touching, and whisper taunting words against his skin. A knee would slip between his legs, a broad thigh pressing against his erection, and Ethan would bite his neck, growling that _to the winner go the spoils_. Benji thought they weren’t the usual spoils one would think of when considering the position they found themselves in, but he wasn’t going to complain, not anytime soon. Not with Ethan breathing _your fingers Benji, like that Benji, right there, harder, more,_ until Ethan was sliding down on his cock, tight and slick and perfect. He’d get that look in his eyes, unfocused determination, as he moved over him, well trained muscles that would never tire, a hand that would find its way to Benji throat, and that would be about as much as Benji could take. Ethan would watch Benji’s face like it was his salvation, hips moving fast and precise, his hand mindful of Benji’s delicate throat, tight enough to excite, but placed well enough not to injure. He would bend forward and meet his lips, kissing away what was left of Benji’s air supply. Oxygen was scarce, the edge of reality scarce. Five seconds, hands cradling his face and neck, forehead to forehead, a kiss, a curse, and a name. And he was falling over the edge.

It wasn’t like this every time. Sometimes it was just him and Julia, moving soft and slow against each other until she pushed him back against the bed with sharp words and a bright smile that had him saying _yes_ without hesitation. Others times Ethan had him in hand or in his mouth, hiding in plain sight on IMF grounds, a vicious grin setting Benji’s nerves on fire. The best was when they were all three together, a complicated pattern, a puzzle that was new each time but just as sweet as the first. Pressed between the two of them slow and intense until there was just sleep and dreams and the warm safety of three.

Some nights Ethan would get that look in his eye, a pain that hid deeper than Benji could follow without the aid of words. And Ethan was a poor conversationalist when it came to the three of them. Benji had asked Julia about it, but she simply shook her head, saying that she knew just about as much as he did. There was someone else long before they had met, a couple who had broken his heart, but that was all he had been able to tell her. Then one day, a rare Saturday when all three of them were home, Ethan told them about Claire and Jim, told them about his first IMF field team, their deaths, their _murders_. Two people who had not only betrayed his trust as an IMF agent, but also his trust as someone who was in love with them. He told them about a younger Ethan, a bright eyed rookie field agent, infatuated and clueless despite his training, and a powerful, ruthless, _trained_ pair of agents who had taken advantage of him. They had seen where he had been blind and tried to burn him to the ground.

Benji wondered at Ethan’s ability to love like he did. How a man who had _that_ happen to him, was able to let himself continue to love, to love deeply and expansively. Benji knew Julia had been the difference between a lonely Ethan and the one he was lucky enough to have in his arms today. She loved just as fiercely as Ethan, ready to welcome more than one into her heart, ready to give and give without end. They had met and messed around, but quickly that found that they both understood the pain and the joy of more than two, understood how it could drown you and make you whole and make you claw out of anything just to feel it all again. She made him open up, when words were too close to his heart, drawing them out of Ethan and laying them in neat ordered boxes that he could unpack and look at with an agent’s eye. Method and order and he would realize where he was, who he was, who he loved. They made plans out of the boxes they had constructed, dating as a couple if they could help it, but knowing if that things were to happen in the future, as was the way of things, that as long as they got to hear the dirty details (and the not so dirty details) then they would be happy.

Julia and Ethan shared this with him. Julia speaking of the fun stories Ethan and Julia had shared, hoping that Benji would share some as well. He blushed, telling her that he was unlikely to do much else but tell her of what Ethan and he had done in IMF bathrooms. She laughed, promising him that he was much cuter and had more game than he realized, that some of the techies he knew had to have crushes on him. It didn’t much matter to him either way, he had enough trouble keeping up with the two of them, let alone having any fun with anyone else. But he appreciated the planning and the preparation and the openness with which they lived their lives, despite the years Ethan had spent keeping quiet about his actual career. Julia just took the new information as an opportunity to tease Ethan about his life as a Department of Transportation employee, and how a super spy loved being a doting househusband. That had led to some weird kinky sex that Benji still wasn’t sure had actually happened.

Why in the hell would he go anywhere else when he had Ethan Hunt dressed up in a frilly apron and Julia Meade in a suit and tie laying him on their bed and hiking up the scratchy Geek Squad polo Julia had gotten him, acting like he was a wayward techie that had fallen into their drab 1950s suburban household. Where the hell else would he find a couple with that kind of imagination?

With that kind of love?


	5. Dean Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Hunt can't stay away from the field. It's a law of nature. Like gravity, inertia, and Julia Meade being up for just about anything.

It was almost their five year anniversary. It was the longest Benji had ever managed with a relationship. Especially with how things were in the IMF, it was the longest anything had ever managed to last. It made sense considering the tenacity of Julia and Ethan. Julia had sheer force of will on her side, Ethan just used his Impossible Missions training. This relationship was an impossible mission if there ever was one. It was only a matter of time until the status quo changed. He didn’t think it would change like this but he should’ve known that it would involve Ethan doing something insane.

“. . . and I told them the only way I’d do this was if they promised to make sure no one knew you were alive. I can’t risking your life again. You don’t . . . you’re not an IMF agent. You don’t need to take on our burdens,” Ethan said, taking her hands in his.

“Oh, well, you know it sounds kind of fun,” Julia said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Croatia.”

“What?” Ethan was looking at her like his heart had stopped beating and he was currently two seconds from death. Only Julia could consistently stun Ethan Hunt.

“You like being back in the field,” she said. “It’s your _calling_ Ethan. And these small missions you’ve been doing lately are basically a morning crossword to you. You need some real _impossible_ missions.”

Julia elbowed Benji’s side, eyebrows wiggling at her turn of phrase. Benji couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Ethan still sounded dazed.

“I know your vocabulary is better than that,” Benji said, “We _have_ played Words With Friends before and I recall you beat me every time.” He squeezed Ethan’s shoulder, shaking him a bit.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying here, Julia.”

“ _I’m saying_ that I think you need to get back out there and do crazy shit again. And I’d totally love to fake my death. It sounds cool to be honest.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Ethan said. He looked over to Benji for help but Benji just shook his head. Julia was already saying what he was thinking, he wasn’t going to help. Ethan scowled at him and focused on Julia again. “You’re telling me that you are looking forward to faking a gruesome death, relocating to Seattle, changing your name, staring a brand new life without me and Benji, not to mention your friends and family, all the while knowing I’m stuck in a Russian prison? Julia, really?”

“Christ Ethan, you’re acting like I don’t know I’m married to a fucking super spy and dating a soon-to-be super spy.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” Benji interjected, “I’m a _soon-to-be super spy_.” He looked over at Ethan, smug.

“I killed men for you,” Julia continued, “I was close to death, you _were_ dead. And then I fucking resuscitated you after you basically killed yourself. Ethan, this is nothing compared to that. _Nothing_. And this way you know I’m safe, I know my family is safe. And I get to know that you are where you belong,” Julia paused as Ethan shot her a withering look, “Okay, not the Russian prison part, but . . . the both of you belong in the field. I’m a flexible person Ethan, like that’s my whole thing, I work in the ER for the love of God. We’re all long hours and down to the line kind of people. That’s who we are. And it’s gonna suck Ethan, it’s gonna hurt so much. I know that. I love you both so much it’s kind of ridiculous, but it’s . . . it’s time for you to get back out there. It’s time to shake things up again.”

“She’s right you know,” Benji said. “Change _is_ kind of our whole thing _._ It’s kinda how we happened anyways? I mean a person’s gotta be a little bonkers to be in a three-way with a married couple. Especially to be in one with _you,_ ” Benji said.

“Oh shut up,” Ethan said. He looked like he was trying to keep a smile from his face.

“And you’re the only man for the job,” Benji said, “Cobalt . . . we can’t just stand by and let . . .”

“Okay, okay. I know. I just didn’t think you--,” Ethan stopped and scrubbed his face.

“We’ll be fine,” Julia said, taking Ethan’s hand in her’s.

“It also helps,” Benji said, “that the IMF doesn’t _technically_ know about me and you two. So this’ll make us all safer in the long run.”

“Except for me,” Ethan said, looking up at the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh, “Russian prison anyone?”

“Oh Christ, get over yourself,” Julia laughed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Julia and Ethan were leaving for their trip to Croatia tomorrow morning. But tonight was just like any other night, albeit tinged with a little melancholy. Julia was muttering to herself over Benji’s record collection while Ethan forced different kinds of cookies he made into Benji’s mouth. Pretty normal night.

“I don’t know why you like to bake in my apartment so much,” Benji said after he swallowed the last bit of pumpkin cookie, the last one, finally.

“You have an old oven. Why you have it I don’t know. But it doesn’t have all that fancy shit. It’s the best kind for baking,” Ethan said, sprawling out on the couch next to Benji, squeezing him against the back rest. Benji huffed and elbowed him but Ethan just kicked his legs up on the arm rest, and put an arm around Benji’s shoulders.

“Maybe I have an old oven because it came with the place and I don’t give a shit about making food so I didn’t think to replace it, possibly?” Benji replied.

“How will you survive once I’m gone?”

“Fast food.”

“No,” Ethan sounded horrified.

“Yes,” Benji insisted.

“Surely you picked up _something_ from watching me in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, that you have, uh, talented hands.”

“I’ll show you talented hands,” Ethan said, rolling over on top of Benji and getting his hands under his shirt.

“Boys, that’s for later,” Julia said from her spot on the floor, setting the needle down on the record she had picked out. Ethan’s hands continued to run up Benji’s shirt as a Dean Martin song started to play. It sounded like _Sway_ to Benji’s ears.

 “I don’t see any dancing over there!” Julia said, “Just a lot of what I said was for later. I hear tell field agents are trained dancers, but I’m doubtful.”

“I didn’t know we were supposed to be dancing,” Benji gasped as Ethan pushed his thigh between his legs.

“Horizontal Tango?” Ethan asked. Benji snickered, squirming underneath him.

“I swear to God Ethan, I will hire an _actual_ Serbian hit squad to _actually_ assassinate you if you’re not careful,” Julia said.

“Oh, damn. We better dance then,” Benji said, “I wouldn’t want to test her.”

Ethan laughed and rolled off of him, standing up. He held out his hand to pull Benji to his feet.

“And who’s leading?” Ethan asked Julia as Benji stood up.

“The taller one,” Benji said.

Ethan hit his arm without taking his eyes off of Julia. “How about senior agent?” he asked.

“You basically just called yourself old Ethan,” Benji said and caught Julia biting down a grin.

“Whoever could win in a fight, gets to lead then?” Ethan asked, scowling at Benji.

“I . . . I concede,” Benji said, rolling his eyes.

Ethan grinned, pulling him close into a little rumba step. Benji had to think for a second, getting his feet to remember the lessons from a month ago. Soon Ethan was taking him across the room in a smooth circuit to the sound of Dean Martin singing. His hand pressed solid against Benji’s back, keeping him close. Ethan led them through a few complicated steps, obviously giving Julia a show, and keeping Benji slightly off balance as he tried to keep up. He turned Benji under his arm as the song ended, pulling Benji’s back flush to his chest, his arms tight around him.

“And how was that?” Ethan asked, resting his chin on Benji’s shoulder.

“That was great, you have to do another one!” Julia exclaimed, clapping. “And it’s . . .” she trailed off as she switched to a new song, “. . . _Ain’t That a Kick in the Head!”_

“Shit, how do you --” Benji wasn’t sure which style of dance was right for this particular song.

“A foxtrot!” Ethan exclaimed as Dean Martin started singing, spinning Benji around to face him.

Ethan’s right hand slid up his back to rest at Benji’s left shoulder blade, and he took a hold of Benji’s right hand. Benji lifted his arms into the proper position and Ethan took them around the living room in a quick little foxtrot. Benji giggled as they spun around the small space, the wide steps required for a good foxtrot bumping them into the edges of the couch and chairs.

As Ethan swung him around, Benji caught sight of Julia smiling big and bright from where she sat, knees held tight to her chest. He stumbled, distracted by her shining face. She laughed at him, rocking back with the honesty of it, her feet leaving the floor. He felt his heart stutter as Ethan pressed his face tight into his shoulder, as if in response to Julia’s sudden brightness flooding the room. Benji could feel tears soak through his shirt, as well as muffled laughter. Ethan’s hands felt desperate against him, tightening against his shirt and his hand.

“ _I couldn’t feel any better or I’d be sick,”_ Ethan whispered along with the song, lips moving across Benji’s neck, pressing a smile against his skin. Then his tears finally got the better of him. He sank to the floor, as the song ended. Benji brought his arms around him as the fell to the floor, trying to keep him upright. He leaned Ethan back from his chest as the settled on the ground, wiping away his tears with his thumb. Julia made her way over to them, a soft sound of alarm coming from her. She put her arms around them, hugging them close. Ethan huffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled, “I’m turning into such a sap.”

“Bullshit, you’ve always been a sap and we all know it,” Julia said.


	6. Lavender Chamomile Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on. Even when one of you is in a Russian prison, one is dating a butch photographer in Seattle, and one is taking his first shaky steps as a super spy. Life goes on. Even if that means having tea with your girlfriend's new girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord in heaven guys....how awkward is this? Also I apparently love me some polyamory negotiations. I LOVE IT.

It had been four months since they had all three been together, three months since Ethan had been locked up, and one and a half months since the last time he had been in Seattle. He and Julia had their night together the night before and now he was talking with her new girlfriend as they waited for Julia to get home from work. After the initial awkwardness of meeting a new person, combined with the fact that the new person was your partner’s new partner, they had fallen into a sort of instant friendship born from bonding over someone you both love.

Benji tried to keep the tea from going through his nose as he startled into a laugh. Pat snickered from her spot on the bench.

“I swear. She really did that.”

“Oh, I believe you. It’s just,” he tried to swallow down his giggles, “it’s just _too_ Julia.”

She smiled, laughing into her tea. “Where did you say you two met?”

“Actually I knew Ethan first. We work in the same department. Then they got married and well . . . I got lucky. At least for five years are so.”

“Julia told me a bit of why she came out here, that really nice position at the Children’s Hospital opened up, but . . . and you don’t have to tell me, but I don’t see why either of you couldn’t make the move to Seattle as well. You three sounded like such a good fit for each other. Not that I’m complaining about how things ended up for me,” she smiled wryly.

“You would be surprised how finicky the Department of Transportation can be. Ethan’s pretty high level and they wanted to keep him in D.C. He hasn’t even been able to make it out here yet because of it.”

“And you? I can tell you really love her.”

“Yeah,” Benji scrubbed the back of his neck. Thank god for his training or he’d be fucked with this whole faked death sort of thing. Actually it might be _because_ of all of this that he had been able to earn his field position so quickly. Nothing like lying to your girlfriend’s girlfriend about what her boyfriend and husband actually do for a living to get you prepared for IMF field work.

“My position with the DOT has me travel enough as it is, it would have been pointless to move out here considering how little time I actually spend with Ethan in D.C. Our house back there is more of just a place to keep my record collection.”

“Travelling for a living does that to you. But you know, I suppose it was easier to have this whole polyamory thing in place before you all had to split up. Not many couples are fine with their significant other having a significant other.”

“Well Ethan and Julia aren’t a normal couple that’s for sure,” Benji huffed a laugh, “And it isn’t for everyone. I’m just surprised Julia found someone who was okay with all of . . .” he gestured vaguely, “ _this_.”

“I don’t mean to sound . . . ah shit,” Pat sighed heavily, taking a sip of her tea, “I don’t mean to sound close-minded or, hell I don’t know, sound like an asshole, but it’s helpful that you and Ethan are so far away. I’d get so damn jealous otherwise.”

Benji couldn’t help but laugh. Pat looked up at him startled, taking the tea from his unsteady hands and setting it on the table. Her face was pink with embarrassment. He suddenly felt bad for his outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he wiped the tears from his eyes, “don’t worry Pat. That’s totally understandable. Like I said, it’s not for everyone. It’s just that, oh shit,” he choked back down another bought of giggles, “it’s just that I get ‘damn jealous’ too.”

“You do?” Pat sounded surprised.

“Yeah, it’s par for the course. But you make her happy and that’s all the matters to me. She doesn’t deserve to be out here without anyone. And hell, it’s her decision, you know?”

“God knows she doesn’t do anything if she doesn’t want to,” Pat rolled her eyes. She looked like he must look when thinking of some of Julia’s more stubborn moments. He felt his heart warm suddenly for Pat.

“How’d you two meet anyways?” he asked, “Julia and I didn’t, um, heh, didn’t really get a lot of time to talk yet.” He blushed heavily and looked up at the sky. They had just talked about jealous and now here he was basically reminding Pat that they fucked last night.

Maybe if he was able to call Julia on the phone every week, like a normal partner would, then this wouldn’t be so hard. As it was he had to keep their relationship secret from the IMF to ensure not only Julia’s safety, but Ethan’s, and now Pat’s. Phone calls, even on burner cells, were out of the question. IMF had an eye on him at all times because of what they assumed was his close friendship with Ethan Hunt. He’d rather just play it safe and see Julia in person and know for a fact that no one was following him. He could handle tails, not IMF level bugging. He had helped design the trackers at one point in his career, and he was close with those who _did_ design them currently. He had too much respect for their work to fuck around with trying to communicate with her that way. And as far as Pat knew, Benji and Julia didn’t get to talk because of the shitty cell phone service at all the rural DOT projects Benji oversaw. He snapped out of his thoughts as Pat started to tell the story of how she and Julia had met.

“As you already know, I’m a photographer. Weddings, engagements, nature stuff. Lately stuff for the Washington chapter of the Audubon. But I do some more artsy shit on the side. I had a gallery showing a few months ago and she happened to be there looking all melancholy and gorgeous. She was standing in front of one of my photos for a good half hour, just looking at it. It was one of my least popular pieces, a photo of some kitsch shit at a flea market. It was very abstract and bright and a little jarring. So I’m watching this woman absolutely enraptured by this ugly photo of mine, wondering what the hell is going on in her head. So I strike up a conversation with her and she smiles at me brilliantly and asks me where and how and why, basically the whole story behind this thing. We were talking until the gallery closed. And now here I am, practically moving in with her.”

“Can I see?” Benji asked, heart stuck in his throat. It sounded so much like . . .

“See what?” She asked, surprised.

“The photograph?”

“Oh. Oh! Holy shit. You’ve probably already saw it. She bought it and hung it up in her house. It’s so embarrassing,” she stood up and gathered the mugs, “Let’s head back in and I’ll show you. She should be back soon anyways and I need to start dinner,” Pat ushered Benji inside.

She nodded her head towards the living room as she made her way into the kitchen. She yelled from the sink, “It’s on the wall opposite the windows. It’s a big ugly thing, you won’t miss it.”

Benji wandered into the living room, and looked for the photograph. She was right, he couldn’t miss. His breath caught in his throat. It was what he expected to see and it made him want to laugh at the lunacy of it all.

It looked just like the kind of shit he bought to put on his walls for Julia to critique, something big and bright and odd, something pretentious as fuck. But this was much more refined than the weird kitsch he had collected. It seemed to say, _yeah, this is a bit pretentious but you know what, fuck it._ It was an odd, close up shot of a pile of obnoxious pins from what seemed to be the 1970s sitting in the light of an old faded window. He distantly heard the door open and close behind him, the jangling of keys hitting the table. He felt familiar arms wrap around his waist, long hair brushing against his face. Julia rested her chin on his shoulder and hummed.

“She’s perfect,” he said softly.

She snorted in response, burying her face in his neck, squeezing him tight, “Of course she is, you doubt my taste?”

“Ever since you chose me . . .” he yelped as she nipped at his neck, “What the fuck?”

“Don’t ever insinuate you are in bad taste. _You_ are perfect Benji. Lord almighty,” she said, exasperated, turning him around in her arms. He had a second to register the grin on her face before she pulled him into a deep kiss. He felt his face go pink in embarrassment and his knees go weak as they always did from Julia’s kisses.

“Damn, aren’t we a couple of lucky bastards,” he heard Pat say from the kitchen. He leaned back for air and saw Pat smiling from the oven. “The woman can kiss,” Pat continued.

“That’s not all I can do,” she whispered into Benji’s ear.

“ _Later, later,”_ he giggled, pushing her towards the kitchen where it smelled like something amazing was cooking. It was just like Julia to find someone else who could make food seem like magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is where the fun starts. I get to be detail oriented and meticulously line up my chapter with the canon established in Ghost Protocol. Woo!!!!!!!!!


	7. Muscle Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Hunt felt old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch Ghost Protocol. It helps.

_Another_ brawl? Ethan listened to the muffled yells as he kept throwing his small piece of concrete at the wall. It was probably just another testosterone fueled scuffle but lately he could never be sure. It had been more than six months since he arrived and he was beginning to feel like the IMF was going to leave him here for the rest of time. He couldn’t discount that it would make their lives a lot easier, not having to deal with him. But he also knew he was their best agent, so in the long run it would make their lives _harder_ to keep him here. It wasn’t gloating, it was just the facts, as Julia always reminded him. But from the sound of the commotion, it probably wasn’t IMF agents. It was just another fight.

He heard a few doors buzzed open. Actually it sounded more like a lot of doors buzzed open. Then an alarmed sounded. He paused, heart skipping a beat as the concrete hit his hand. He blinked then resumed the steady pattern of rock hitting rock, trying desperately not to get his hopes up.

Wait, was that trumpets? Jazzy trumpets? It couldn’t be . . .

He caught the smooth stone on its way back, getting up as the door to his cell opened.

He suppressed the thrill that threatened to shoot through him at the sound of _that_ song coming over the prison intercom. IMF had told him the extraction plan, said they’d have a song play to let him now how much time he had left. But they had failed to tell him exactly what song they’d use. Apparently they hadn’t been able to determine the precise timing of the extraction before he went in. But this song could only mean three things: 

  1. It was _Benji_ rescuing him.
  2. Benji was a field agent.
  3. _Benji was a field agent._



It actually only amounted to two things, but Ethan felt that Benji becoming a field agent was a fact worth repeating. He was proud of him, sure, but  . . .

It made him sick with worry. Worry? As if he could afford to worry. He could never afford to worry in his line of work. Had prison made him, what? Worrisome? Weak? It wasn’t something many people could say about their stay in prison, let alone a Russian prison, that it had made them weak, not harder, not colder. But six months of contemplation and no Benji or Julia was making him feel emotional. It was making him feel . . . _old._

_Old?_

He set the stone back in its place as he stepped out of his cell. He felt memories flood through him as the agent settled in him again, the persona of Sergei only barely hanging on for Bogdan’s benefit.  However it wasn’t the traditional kind of memory, images flashing behind eyelids and the vague scratch of nostalgia at the back of the brain. It was closer to the feeling of muscle memory, an odd mix of field training and foxtrot, his body feeling it more than his conscious mind. And soon he was navigating the sinew of memories, letting it settle around his bones, trying to get Benji to work with him, to move with him. No words, just movement.

And a bit of theatrics.

Benji gave in after what Ethan assumed was a good twenty seconds of yelling at his screen. Ethan, thankful on all levels blew a kiss to the camera, signed an _I Love You_ , and got to work, his brain shutting down with a quick flutter of emotion reserved for Benji. Instinct took over as he hyperfocused on the job ahead, letting muscle memory do the work. But a part of him still repeated the following thoughts:

Benji was a field agent.

And that was going to take some getting used to.

…………………………..

Agenthanaway ** _julia_** cartermoreau” _whyisheinprison?”_ nuclearlaunchcodes ** _benji_** extremistcobalt

Ethan struggled to bring his thoughts to a halt and follow one track for a just a few moments. Try to attempt to settle his emotions into something like fuel instead of fear. He listened with one ear to Benji’s conversation with Carter while focusing on his new mission. Well, it wasn’t new to him, but Carter didn’t need to know that.

That would work.

Carter was the unknown. He needed to focus on Carter. Carter. . .

She seemed too much like himself in his younger days. She was fresh from losing Hanaway in the field.  Losing a team member, a partner. And as a consequence she was even more deadly than before, fury sharpening her skills into a machete, made to clear the unnecessary from her path. Ethan knew of Hanaway, but not Carter. Benji and Hanaway did a lot of their field training together, recruits from other offices within the IMF. It was a part of the initiative to broaden their field agents’ skill set. He itched to ask Benji about Hanaway and Carter, about his team, his first few months in the field. He wanted to catch up with him, to touch him. But their mission, _their lives_ , meant they had to stay apart. The majority of field agents, most of the IMF, and especially Carter, whom he did not know at all could not know of their relationship. Especially considering the internal review that had started a year before Ethan went in, trying to sniff out and dismantle any inter-IMF romantic relationships. It was a liability they said. And Carter had learned the hard way, and in the face of that, she was unpredictable. He only had himself to look at to know her mind, the terror of a situation like that still had him gasping awake at night. Not to mention Benji was now in . . .

No. Ethan couldn’t afford to follow that train of thought.

Benji . . .

“This is very exciting. Being out in the field. With you, you know. It’s been a bit of a dream.”

Ethan ground his teeth, trying desperately not to whack Benji upside the head or hiss something inappropriate for both Carter to hear and for a general to say. With no time to talk, to regroup, to do anything but grab their gear and go, he and Benji could do nothing but walk straight faced into the fucking Kremlin. He’d rather have had a decent two words with Benji but instead he had to be content with his partner chattering away under his breath as they made their way into the heart of Russian Intelligence. Benji’s nervous energy was almost unbearable, it could have been anything from trying to keep himself from revealing their extremely inappropriate relationship, to wanting to impress Ethan with his field agent skills, to a (very reasonable) fear of infiltrating the Kremlin. Knowing Benji it was all three and probably several other odd anxieties thrown into the mix. Ethan’s first day back in the field and he was breaking into Russian Intelligence with his and his believed-to-be-dead wife’s boyfriend, who was obviously still fresh from field training. Not many people could claim that as their first day on the job. And Benji was chattering on about how working with Ethan was _a bit of a dream_. Jesus Christ, but that was getting him messed up in all sorts of ways.

If he could just get them some time alone without risking detection by Carter or the IMF, maybe half an hour, hell he’d make do with 10 minutes, he’d jump Benji’s bones for that comment. It’d be some sort of desperate adrenaline fueled fuck too and it was consuming him. Shit. They were being checked in to the Kremlin and he was getting distracted with thoughts of riding his team member’s dick.

Prison had made him lose his mind apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get dramatic from here on out.


	8. Sticky Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan will you please stop falling in love with every single person who walks your way?

It felt better than he thought it would, working with Benji. It was all smooth motions and instinct, knowing where the other was and what the other needed without a second thought or stopping for words. But Benji was still a nervous wreck. Ethan wanted desperately to do more for him, but all he could afford to do was to touch his arm, squeeze his shoulder, and get Benji to look him in the eye and focus.

“I’m sorry, you know . . . about you and Julia.”

Ethan paused in confusion, not really sure where Benji meant to go with that. He rested his hand on Benji’s back, trying to calm him. Benji shook under him and Ethan felt him take a breath before speaking again.

“I wanted to say something before you went away but, I liked her you know.”

Ethan felt his heart flutter. Benji wanted Ethan to know it was okay. He needed to let Ethan know it was okay, to feel back together again. And he couldn’t do that. Not with Jane listening in, not with the whole of IMF just waiting for them to slip up. Not with the goddamn Kremlin. The mission.   _I liked her you know._ Good Christ, no wonder Benji was a mess. _Ethan_ was barely keeping it together.

_Look at me, Benji. Take a breath, keep calm. Focus on the mission. The mission. We will regroup later. Who let you in the field so soon?_

_I was supposed to be there for that._

_Focus Benji._

_Focus Ethan._

_No disk._

_Abort._

Three escapes from death and one tag-along chief analyst later, Ethan fell into the train car, looking up to find Benji’s gun and worried face. Ethan needed to regroup, to reroute again. He heard Benji’s tense voice somewhere beyond his thoughts but he couldn’t focus on that, not with:

Two (2) unknown agents: one (1) chief analyst that sounded clueless but moved like he’d had training of some sort, one (1) field agent who had an obvious and deadly vendetta against an asset.

One (1) Secretary of the IMF dead.

One (1) Ghost Protocol

One (1) Kremlin bombed.

An unknown number (?) of Russians coming after them.

One (1) World’s Tallest Building to climb.

Ethan hated that they fell into sync like this, even when the world was falling down around them and there was no _time._ He hated that Benji had faith in his ability to climb the goddamn tallest building in the world. Hated that Benji had helped him get into his gear, hands all over him, voice calm and sure. But it was the way things were, even with Ghost Protocol and his boyfriend in the field and Julia in Seattle, and two unknowns trying to stop the destruction of the world. And there were two things that Benji Dunn knew and Ethan just had to take on faith. Benji knew technology and he knew Ethan. And he knew Ethan could climb this fucking building and probably enjoy it. It made Ethan burn up inside, hating that he couldn’t pause, couldn’t breathe and say _thank you_ or something for that kind of faith. If he looked over at Benji now, he’d do something embarrassing in front of Brandt. Something like kiss Benji good luck or hug him or say I love you. He felt Benji hesitate beside him, hand ghosting over his shoulder. Ethan grit his teeth, tried not to look at Benji, and went for it.

_Just fucking climb the side of the world’s tallest building with sticky hands. Just fucking go for it._

He came around to himself again in their safe house, splashing water on his face and listening to the team ( _team?_ ) fighting in the other room. His nerves were still buzzing with the adrenaline from the past hour and he tried to snap out of it, tried to get his thoughts to coalesce into something other than pure emotion and instinct. He heard his phone ring through the din of his heartbeat and as he spoke into the bent metal he could suddenly feel sand and the grime of _everything_ sink into his bones. His brain restarted as the static-filled words filtering through the phone triggered new routes to appear.

He walked into the other room, feeling his purpose again, trying to ignore Benji’s eyes on him. He was looking at Ethan like the world was ending, which it _was._ And Ethan wanted nothing more than to ignore the mission, hands itching, mouth dry with the need for words shared, quiet and desperate. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t look at him, couldn’t focus on anything else besides the ten thousand data points compiling in his head, rerouting him back to the codes, back to the mission. If he stopped to . . . if he stopped he wouldn’t come back.

Instead he had to focus on Brandt.

With a few words and one gun between them, Ethan could cross him off the list. He had his answer in the exchange of metal. And he had answers to questions he hadn't thought to ask as well, twenty three more facts and figures piling up on everything else as Brandt rolled with him, his hands slipping over the gun like a caress. And Ethan hated it, hated feeling it flare in his blood, clearing his brain like nothing else could. He could play this through, wanted to play this through. To draw it out and feel Brandt’s thoughts written out in the pattern of blocks and strikes. He wanted to get caught up in the play of skin and muscle, training giving way to ingenuity and then to pure instinct. But that wasn’t the mission. Not by a long shot. He had to let Brandt win, that was the only way it would end. Brandt would never stand down, draw it out and feed off the burn of an equal. So he let Brandt pull the gun on him, perfect and smooth and there was a pause where Ethan could still feel his blood simmering in his veins. He had to speak, had to get back on solid ground. Had to get back to the mission.

“How does an agent with skills like that, end up an analyst?” he asked.

“Well," Brandt said, "we all have our secrets, don’t we Ethan?”

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t know. Brandt couldn’t possibly know about Julia, about Benji.

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” Ethan said, hoping to bargain with Brandt. Hoping to do  _something._

And Brandt looked like he was about to speak, about to give him everything but his phone let Ethan know that he couldn’t – Max had kept her promise and her bodyguard was there and he couldn’t do this now. It . . . just the fact that Brandt seemed genuinely willing to tell him his secrets was enough, enough to trust him with Benji. Even if the team had fallen apart, if they had ever been a team in the first place, he knew then that Brandt could be trusted to help get them – no, not _them_ , but Benji - out of there. Get Benji of harm’s way, no matter how much Benji would hate him for it.

He had to leave now. He couldn’t stay.

The mission.

“I have friends in the region. Just sit tight.” He couldn’t even bring himself to look Benji in the eye. “I’ll send someone to get you out of here.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Benji’s voice was soft and Ethan’s grip on the door was turning his knuckles white in an effort to keep himself from turning around. He closed the door without answering.

“What are you going to do? Go after him alone?” He could hear Benji’s muffled yell from behind the door. And it hurt. It fucking hurt to do this to him. But Benji had to understand and he couldn’t afford to explain. He couldn’t afford to . . .

Two hours later he met Benji and the rest of the team at the airport.

So much for  _that_ plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that Max (from the first movie) and Ethan form a friendship and help each other out from time to time. The head covering and the bodyguard in Ghost Protocol totally looks like the same from the first movie so like . . . yes.


	9. Internal Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Ethan does some soul-searching, Benji does some damage control.

Benji took a breath. He knew. He knew from years of experience how Ethan’s mind worked. He knew what Ethan was doing when he walked out the door. And it grated against every fiber of his being. But he wasn’t going to give up on Ethan just like that. That was one thing Julia had taught him. Ethan was stubborn and protective and wasn’t that just the worst combination. And the mission, _this_ mission, was not the place for Ethan to be doing that. So Benji was not going to give up no matter how much Ethan obviously wanted to keep him safe or whatever he was telling himself to justify his lone wolf move. The man had trained Benji with his own two hands. What more did Ethan need than that to trust Benji in the field? But Ethan was gone and Benji had bigger fish to fry than running after him. He’d come around. He always came around. Benji had Brandt to deal with first. Ethan could go have his little martyr session. Benji would clean up this mess.

“I was on a protection detail in Croatia,” Brandt began and Benji felt himself break out in a cold sweat as the mention of Croatia lined up with Brandt’s earlier accusations towards Ethan.

“Shadowing the assets, husband and wife,” Brandt continued, adding more fuel to Benji’s impending panic attack.  He wasn’t sure if it was some kind of fucked up attempt of uncovering their relationship or what, but whatever it was, Benji felt like it wasn’t going to be good. Benji had no doubt that the IMF would go to these lengths in hopes of neutralizing what they thought was an unnecessary risk factor. Especially if they suspected their star agent was messing around with a rookie. IMF didn’t know how to do subtle when it came to internal affairs.

Benji felt a little bit like he might possibly be drowning in paranoia. Especially since somewhere in the back of his head he was genuinely confused by Brandt’s total lack of tells. The man acted like he didn’t even know Benji was involved with Julia’s faked death, which would logically lead to ruling out Brandt intending to uncover an unsanctioned relationship.

“Three days in, we caught wind that a Serbian hit squad was going after the couple,” Brandt continued even though Benji started to zone out as he put together the pieces. Brandt _had_ been there. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know about Julia and Ethan and Benji, not when he had been there in Croatia specifically to witness the staged hit, not prevent it. IMF had placed him there knowing full well the consequences, wanting him to lend credence to the cover story, to spread rumors. Brandt _had_ been there to protect Ethan and Julia, but he didn’t know how that was actually going to happen.

“But my team had it under control, knew they were coming. But I couldn’t shake this feeling that I should warn the couple somehow. To find a way to let them know,” Brandt looked like Benji felt.

“But you know, orders are orders, and I didn’t.”

Brandt sighed heavily and Benji felt his whole heart constrict. “One day, the husband decides to leave the hotel and go for a run. So I follow. And I leave two men with the wife. When I get back, my guys are unconscious and the wife is gone.

“The local police found her body three days later, what was left of her anyway,” Brandt trails off and Benji, he can’t let go of the suspicion that there might be the chance that Brandt could still be playing him. Hell, it might have been a different couple in Croatia, a different Serbian hit squad. Benji knew the chances were ridiculously slim.

“That was my last day in the field. I couldn’t face another life or death situation after that.”

“What happened to the husband?” Jane asked. And Benji could tell Brandt was going to tell them it was Ethan. It was written all over Brandt’s face, the spark in his eyes of the sick pleasure associated with any instance of dropping surprising news on an unsuspecting audience. Benji prepared to act the part, could feel it slipping over his face. He’d had six months of practice with this particular lie.

“I never saw him again . . . until two days ago in Moscow and the Secretary introduced me to Ethan Hunt.”

And there it was.

He could hear it in Brandt’s voice before Brandt even opened his mouth, the words of _my fault_. And how very Ethan Hunt was that? He felt sick from the realization that triggered. How Brandt was and was not the super spy the IMF desired to create. He had been trained to be a more controllable Ethan Hunt. But Brandt couldn’t be that. Not with his whole body broadcasting the unerring sense of truth inherent in Brandt’s being. He might have gotten out of the field because of Croatia but he had never been cut out for it in the first place. He was a spy, there was no doubt about that, from the way he had moved with Ethan to the way he adapted to whatever came their way. But he had truth and honesty written into his very skin. He bled and loved the same way that Ethan did but he thought and moved and cared with all the authenticity that Julia had. He was a strange mess of want and need and brutal sincerity. A spy should only appear sincere, should only act with brutality, but a spy should never be _real_. Ethan lived on the edge of brutality and sincerity at all times and his success was built on his ability to balance on the precipice, to go to the edge of authenticity but never fall over into wearing his heart on his sleeve. Brandt had obviously never found that edge, never wanted it, never felt like he needed the balance. He seemed to have preferred to merge those qualities into a dangerous and solid belief in truth of being rather than navigate the dangerous space between.

And what a dangerous space that was. Ethan was always on the edge of falling into the abyss of it, the struggle to finish the mission, to outsmart and outthink, but also to keep his humanity. His love and understanding of people was his greatest asset as an agent, but also his greatest downfall. Because here Ethan was, having exercised his martyr complex and finding it lacking, here he was standing, _waiting_ for them, the _team,_ at the airport. Having Benji in the field had obviously made him feel it was safer to ignore his need for connection. He wanted to run away from it, wanted to jump off into brutality and never take a second glance. But even in the midst of adrenaline and the literal end of the world counting down, Ethan was welcoming them back, smiling at the plane like it was a gift that could appease them. He was bright and solid like he hadn’t just left them behind three hours earlier to wait out the apocalypse on the sidelines because it was ‘safer’. Benji wanted nothing more than to punch him in his smug handsome face, to show him what the tightrope walk of brutality and sincerity really meant. But he was never going to be a spy like Ethan or Brandt. His balancing act was made of right brain and left brain, making data points coalesce into a pretty picture, solving puzzles of light and 0’s and 1’s, making logic and creativity combine into humor and pre-emptive action. But in the face of Ethan doing what Ethan did best, a puzzle that had been solved years before, made up of failed communication and stubbornness, Benji was at a loss for words and options.

So he went for something bland, something so bloody innocuous to say because he had nothing left to give him.

“I’m glad we could help,” and Benji knew he sounded despondent, but if it helped Ethan to realize how tired Benji was, then all the better.

“ . . . and we have to do it together,” Ethan said, catching Benji’s eye as he finished his speech. Because that was what it was, a speech. Ethan seemed to have realized what was happening in Benji’s mind, his smile breaking imperceptibly at the edges. Benji hung back as the rest of the team got into the plane, giving Ethan a smile, a comment on the jet, a little bit of recognition of Ethan’s half-assed apology.

“Wait until you see the car,” Ethan called after him, obviously proud of himself and maybe Benji was just a tiny bit appeased. Ethan had after all made sure to get him his tech, and it was nice fucking tech too. But knowing Ethan, Benji probably wouldn’t even get to drive the car.


	10. The Department of Transportation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandt's smart, he should be able to catch up.

The moment The Secretary had said his name, Brandt felt sick. He had been trailing _Ethan Hunt_ in Croatia. Not just any asset, _the_ asset, the star agent, the thorn in the side of the IMF, a general mess of skill and focus that would bring the world down around them all the while picking up the pieces with a smile and a rappel down the side of a building. No wonder Brandt had felt himself falling apart as he watched the couple, who he had only known as Ethan and Julia at the time. Ethan had moved and breathed and existed like the legend he was, and why Brandt hadn’t been able to put two and two together at the time made him feel foolish on top of the shame of not only falling for an asset, but of falling for a married asset. And he hadn’t even spoken to the man, just watched, observed, protected. Did his job. And was it really ‘falling for’ when it was only a burn in his muscles and a shortness of breath that lit him up like few things did. He’d watch Ethan run every morning, Ethan’s body aware but feigning indifference to its surroundings like the trained weapon he was. Sometimes Brandt felt as if Ethan knew he was there, at the edge of the periphery, eyes flicking close to Brandt’s positon, but never ever touching him. Before long he felt like it was a game, as if Ethan was acknowledging his presence with a gaze too close for comfort, letting Brandt settle at the back of his neck, carrying on with a faint smirk on his lips and a lightness in his step. He obviously didn’t think of Brandt as a threat, his senses extended around Brandt, never moving in, never moving away from the shadow Brandt made. Ethan always settled down in Brandt’s direction, shoulders relaxing as he pushed his defenses towards other areas. It made Brandt burn with the recognition of an equal, of an opponent. Someone who knew the shadow of Brandt like an old friend, even if that shadow was the leader of one of the best teams the IMF had.

Now he realized why the burn had kept him there in Croatia, a scar deep in his muscles, even after six months. It wasn’t just a failure that kept his blood high, it was Ethan playing the game, faking his wife’s death and getting Brandt to fall right into his trap. He was just as they said, a master spy, thinking ten steps ahead of Brandt’s ten steps. Brandt hated how Ethan had played him, loved it. There was a reason they had both gotten into the game the IMF excelled in, there was a reason he was the chief analyst as soon as he had gotten out of the field. They were the best of the best, and to face each other like they had, less cat and mouse and more cat and cat, it was always going to make him breathless. The past few days had only made the feeling of it settle further into his bones. Ethan dancing with him, hands sliding over the gun, letting Brandt win, letting him win because that was the only way for Ethan to win. Brandt shook with the need to start the fight again, to push and to know the man who was always slipping out of his grasp.

And six months as an analyst had him aching in other ways for Ethan. Brandt loved the feel of a mission unfolding at his fingertips, a few choice words guiding an agent to step just a few centimeters closer to mission accomplished. Ethan Hunt moved like the agent Brandt longed to have on the other side of the ear piece. Someone who knew what he was doing, knew what Brandt wanted without asking, who would act outside of the rules because he had to, even if Brandt didn’t want that, because Brandt needed that. Ethan would push against his orders, test him, get the job done. And that made Brandt want to get his hands on him and push him to do better and better and better. It made him want to give Ethan the fight, his eyes burning bright and hot and sharp against Brandt’s, both of them itching for it.

But he had a wife. And Brandt wasn’t an analyst anymore. And he didn’t know where that put them.

He fell out of his train of thought to find himself standing in front of a coffee shop on the edge of the pier. He was staring into the window, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Benji Dunn was kissing Julia Meade. On the lips. With what seemed to be tongue.

Benji Dunn had him feeling something else, softer and less urgent. It was a warm affection that Brand thought he had given up long ago. Benji pulled them back from being swallowed up in the game, showed them that it was just a game half the time. And he trusted like he had known no other agent to trust. That didn’t mean he wasn’t cautious, but it meant when Brandt doubted, Benji pushed him off the edge with a laugh and a warm quip.

And there was someone else there too, pressed close to Julia as well, someone he didn’t recognize, a small woman with a buzz cut and an ugly patterned button-down. And she . . . she was kissing Julia as well, talking excitedly with Benji. Brandt tried desperately to put things together into a satisfying picture, but something was missing and he couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be. Before he knew it he was walking into the shop, saying Benji’s name in confusion. The jet lag must have gotten to him, the adrenaline draining from his system, leaving him with tired bones and a fuzzy brain.

“Br—Will!” Benji exclaimed, shifting closer to Julia, if that was possible, and patting the space on the booth beside him. Why Benji was calling him Will wasn’t helping Brandt get any closer to figuring out what the hell was going on. But he couldn’t do much but follow Benji’s lead.

“Hey, Benji . . .” he said, slipping into the booth. Benji slung an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close, lips brushing his ear.

“Just go with it, Brandt,” Benji whispered against his skin, before pulling back with a laugh, as if Brandt could do anything else but follow him.

“And who’s this?” the woman asked.

“William Brandt, he got assigned to my division at the Department of Transportation and well, one thing led to another,” Benji said. Brandt tried not to knit his eyebrows in confusion. The Department of Transportation? One thing led to another? What in the hell was going on here?

“You and Ethan sure get around,” the woman said, laughing.

“So do you, Pat,” Benji responded, “Remember Lizzie?” Pat shook her head as Julia buried her face into Pat’s shoulder, giggling.

“Pat?” Brandt asked, reaching over to shake her hand.

“Yup, Julia’s partner.”

“Hmmm, nice to meet you,” Brandt said, mind racing to put everything together.

“So now I get to meet the new boy on the block, but what about Ethan? He’s your damn husband, when will I ever get to meet him?” Pat asked Julia.

“I think he’s coming round tomorrow,” Benji said, “work comes first you know.”

“On a Friday night?” Pat asked.

“Yup, Washington’s got itself in a little tizzy, so Ethan has to do damage control,” Benji laughed, “that’s why Will’s late.”

Brandt snorted, damage control, that was an understatement. He startled when Julia did the same, she caught his eye, looking between him and Benji and giving him a comforting smile.

“So how’d you two meet,” Julia asked with a wry smile.

“You mean you haven’t heard? I mean I haven’t, but you’re the one who’s fucking them,” Pat said. Brandt bit his lip trying not to make a noise. Fucking . . . Benji?

“Uh, well I thought maybe in-person would be better,” Brandt said. He felt Benji squeeze his shoulder.

“Ethan met him actually in the statistics division, they got in a little fight and well, you know Ethan,” Benji said.

“Oh my god,” Julia gasped, giggling, “You two fought?” Brandt had the distinct feeling that she knew exactly what kind of fight it had been too.

“Heh, yeah . . .” Brandt mumbled, realizing that his thing for Ethan, and increasingly Benji, wasn’t as one-sided as he thought. Realizing that it wasn’t as impossible as it should’ve been. Here Benji was, welcoming him to their table with literal open arms, letting him sit with The Julia Meade, letting him meet her girlfriend, letting him in on the big secret of their little polyamorous mess. A sweet little mess that seemed to span the two coasts and the hearts of super spies and nurses and . . . whatever Pat was.

“Benji came in to split the fight up,” Brandt continued, “and well, between the two of them, it just seemed silly to fight anymore.” He grinned when Benji’s arm slid down around his waist, squeezing him tight. This little mess seemed like it was just what he needed.


	11. Pizza Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandt lets his inner analyst loose on this whole situation.

Brandt spent the next two weeks in debriefing, in IMF quarters and in his apartment, alone. He let the analyst part of him loose on the coffee date, the mission. How in god’s name Ethan and Benji had managed to figure him out was his first mystery. He liked to keep himself fairly closeted within the IMF, despite its progressive nature. It was just easier that way, safer. He’d rather be known as the chief analyst than as the gay analyst. People were so eager to define someone on just one axis of their life. And straight people loved to make it your sexuality. He’d soon become the agent sent out to seduce the rich _guy_ and little else if it was general knowledge, even gossiped about.

That didn’t mean no one in the IMF knew. It was on his classified dossier, as was every field agent’s orientation, honey pot training qualifications, and whatever other sexual information the IMF deemed valuable. Invasive yes, but effective. Only top analysts and handlers had access to that particular type of information, all extremely trained and conscientious people if the IMF could help it.

And even if Ethan or Benji had access to his files, they probably didn’t give a shit to look for his fucking sexual preferences, or at least he hoped they didn’t. Because if they were snooping around to find that particular information out he would feel no guilt in murdering them where they stood, even if it was The Ethan Hunt he was killing in cold blood.

And the coffee shop had him reevaluating Benji and Ethan. They were less heterosexual monogamist paragons of masculinity than Brandt had initially thought. That meant Ethan probably had a pretty good gaydar considering he was both a part of the family and their top agent. So Brandt had probably been broken down in an instant, data points tucked away for future use. But being gay didn’t mean he was going to want to fuck any man that so much as breathed near him. So how the fuck did they infer his attraction to – oh, it was the gun.

Anyone, gaydar or no, could have seen how hot he was for it. Come to think of it Ethan had been pretty hot for it too if Brandt was remembering correctly. And anyways they were spies. IMF agents. It was going to come up sooner or later.

At the end of his two week self-imposed isolation, a certain pair of spies knocked on his door. Ethan and Benji stood just outside his threshold, buzzing with energy, holding Tupperware filled with what Brandt hoped was non spaghetti shaped food (Brandt had gotten in his pasta habit again). All in all they looked rather suspicious to Brandt’s eyes. Considering the state of affairs he had left them in back in Seattle, from what he suspected involved some sort of reunion orgy, to the odd little coffee date that had sprung up on him, Brandt felt he had every right to be paranoid.

“What are you two doing here?” Brandt asked, moving back to let them in. He took the two of them, Benji in his usual jeans, plaid button down, and logo shirt, Ethan in a plain black tshirt and low slung jeans (which was fucking distracting), toeing off his Chucks and wandering into the kitchen with socks that read . . .

“Do those things say ‘Fuck this shit’?”

Ethan laughed from the kitchen, “Julia got us socks.”

“Socks?” Julia had gotten her husband and boyfriend socks . . . for coming home after stopping a nuclear apocalypse? It seemed, good lord, accurate for the three of them.

“Not just any socks, _funny_ socks,” Benji said. He lifted his leg up at an awkward angle, getting off balance for a second. Brandt squinted at them.

“ _Badass coming through_. . . those aren’t funny socks, they’re rude socks.”

“Don’t you ever cuss Brandt? You know? For fun?” Ethan asked, returning from the kitchen.

“When I get heated I can be rude,” he frowned at them both.

“We’ll have to get you heated then won’t we Ethan?” Benji grinned.

“Yeah, about that . . .” Brandt began, feeling Ethan’s hand settle heavy on his back.

“Let’s eat first,” Ethan said, breath ghosting against his neck, guiding Brandt towards the kitchen.

…………………………

They found themselves on the floor after dinner, picking at the remains of Ethan’s giant cinnamon roll thing and sketching out a rough plan of breaking into the actual Department of Transportation.

“But I think that if we came in from the – ” Brandt motioned at their makeshift schematics, indicating his plan of attack.

“No, if we did that, then the alarms would sound here,” Ethan said, pointing at a spot on the map, pressing in close to Brandt for a better angle, “and here.”

“But if we detoured through the air ducts right here, we’d bypass the security system and end up right where we need to be.”

“Those are tiny little fuckers. You’d get through the straight away alright, but that turn before the jump would be a bastard for even the most limber of people.”

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty limber to me last night Ethan,” Benji quipped from where he was reclining against the sofa, watching them bicker. Brandt suddenly became aware of how close Ethan really was, his mind slipping to images of limber Ethan, particularly him being limber with Benji, in bed. He tensed with the reminder of the implications of their little dinner, only to have Ethan’s hand come up to rest at his lower back, inching up under his shirt to rub circles into his skin with his thumb.

“Ah, oh, I think we should . . . ahhhh,” Brandt trailed off as Ethan pressed his lips to his neck.

“Should what?” Benji asked, “Talk about it?”

“Yeah. . .talk about i-it” Ethan bit down softly into his skin, hand wandering lower to the edge of his jeans, thumb brushing under the fabric of his boxer briefs to tease the top of the seam of his ass. “f-fuck Ethan. . .”

“Which is the goal,’ Benji snickered, moving closer to settle on the other side of Brandt, hand warm on his upper thigh. “You know this is an open relationship, Julia’s already met you, Pat’s already met you. Hell, Pat’s met Ethan now.”

“Yeah, b-but. . .”

“Brandt, _Will_ ¸ I’m sure you’ve been getting your little chief analyst brain around all the intricacies of the situation for the past two weeks.”

“Probably thought nothing of it, right Will? Jacked off to the thought of us? Benji and I fucking? You fucking us?” Ethan breathed against his skin.

“Ummmm. . . y-yessss,” Brandt blushed with the reminder of how many nights he had fucked into his own fist thinking about Ethan on his dick and Benji in his mouth.

“It can just be fucking darling,” Ethan continued, not moving from the skin he had already conquered, keeping his hand confined to the space between shirt and jeans. “Nothing more if you don’t want to. We can take it slow. We can even leave it be now and come back later. But Will, I want you to fuck me, I want you to take me under your hand.”

“Pull his hair back and make him beg for it,” Benji hissed, closing in, squeezing Brandt’s thigh, “fuck me while you make him watch, make him wait, all tied up and gagging for it.”

“What’ll it be sweetheart?” Ethan asked.

“Ah fuck, just . . .” Brandt trailed off trying to fight through the sensations the images were giving him, trying to think past the feeling of Benji and Ethan pressed against him.

“Need to give you some room, Will? Some time?” Ethan asked, voice worried.

“No, oh, no. If we don’t fuck now I might just make an actual unsanctioned hit in this damn apartment. Make that two.”

“Kinky,” Benji grinned, hand teasing at the line of Brandt’s cock pushing through his jeans.

“Ahhhh ohhhh, that’s closer to the truth than you think.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we figured that one out,” Ethan purred, his other hand pushing up under Will’s shirt, brushing against one of his nipples.

 “But – what if I don’t know what I want after tonight?” Brandt choked out past the pleasure.

“That’s okay babe, we’ll be okay either way, just think about tonight, yes?” Ethan whispered.

“Yes,” Brandt nodded, falling back as Ethan swung himself into his lap and pushed him to the ground, mouth pressing tight and hot against Brandt’s.

“Jesus fuck, he bloody pounced on you,” Benji laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait but this semester has really been kicking my ass.


End file.
